


Thin Air

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Community: daredevilkink, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Foggy just doesn’t turn up at work. No explanation, no nothing. Karen and Matt are worried, and rightly so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thin Air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tashilover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/gifts).



> **Warning:** Spoilers for all of season 1, veers into AU-ish territory  
>  **Author's Note:** Fill for the prompt [“Foggy disappears”](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=6611870#cmt6611870) over on the daredevilkink meme.  
>  A word of explanation first, though. I started writing this fill pretty much immediately after I read the prompt, because it just exploded in my head and wanted out. Obviously, another anon felt the same way, because by the time I went back to look at the kinkmeme, I found the prompt had already been filled ([These Days We’ve Lost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4384103) by NohaIjiachi). Not that I’d ever complain about a prompt being filled twice by different people, but it was much to my dismay that, when I took a cursory glance at the first few paragraphs, I realized that we’d obviously written pretty much the same thing. Or at the very least, a freakishly similar thing.  
> I pondered whether I even wanted to finish my version, because, uh, what’s the point of having the same thing twice? But in the end I did, because I already had 2,000 words down, and more were forming in my head. Plus, there can never be too much Daredevil fic, right?  
> But what I wanted to make very clear is that, honest to God, NohaIjiachi and I wrote our stories completely independently. Similarities in both content and style are coincidental and most probably steered by the prompt alone. I did not read her story until after I finished writing mine. She even encouraged me to finish my version, so here we are.  
>  **Disclaimer:** None of this is mine except for my vivid imagination. Copyright to characters and situations belongs to Drew Goddard, Steven S. DeKnight, Marvel Entertainment, Netflix, and whoever else might wish to claim ownership. I'm just borrowing for a little escapism and a whole lot of fun.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

# Day 1

It’s weird that Foggy doesn’t turn up at work without calling. Or leaving any kind of message, really. Karen starts worrying around 11 AM, because Foggy is never this late without a reason. Matt can tell by the way she fidgets. And, yes, of course he’s noticed Foggy’s absence himself. He’s just taught himself not to worry. Too much.

At 1 PM Karen comes to talk to Matt about it. She’s called him three times already. Landline and cell phone. Matt’s sent texts and WhatsApps, leaves a voicemail for good measure. None get a reply. Matt is now worried too. A lot.

He goes to Foggy’s apartment an hour later. There’s no one there, and Matt can tell that without entering. There’s nothing that raises any red flags. Just the usual scents and noises he’s expecting from Foggy’s empty apartment. Matt is stumped.

When he gets back to the office, Karen is already calling the hospitals. Matt calls Claire, and she starts helping. Brett’s got his feelers out, too. Foggy’s absence remains a mystery.

In the evening, Matt caves and calls Foggy’s parents. He didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily. They haven’t heard from their son in three weeks, and it was the usual, “Yes, everything is fine, how are you?” conversation. Nothing unusual there. Matt’s worry skyrockets. This isn’t like Foggy to just disappear without a word.

That night, as soon as Matt is fairly sure darkness has fallen, he puts on the suit and roams the roofs of Hell’s Kitchen. It takes him all night to comb through it block by block. There’s no trace of Foggy anywhere. Matt thinks maybe he needs to widen his radius.

# Day 2

The next morning, after maybe two hours of fitful sleep, Matt and Karen file an official missing person’s report. Questions are being asked that neither Matt nor Karen have an answer to. The police officer is friendly but all-business. In a matter-of-fact voice he tells them, “Look, I understand that you’re concerned, but from what I’ve heard, it may just be that Mr. Nelson _wanted_ to disappear. I’ve seen it happen many times.”

“No, not Foggy,” Matt protests with a vehemence to his voice that surprises even himself. “He’s not the kind of person who would do something like that.”

The officer just nods and mutters under his breath, “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

Matt wants to punch him in the face. Hard. And very nearly does.

Both Karen and Matt are more than deflated by the time they leave the police station. Matt thinks this was a total waste of time, because clearly the police don’t know a fucking thing about the kind of person Foggy is, and seem to have zero interest in finding him. It’ll have to be on him. And Daredevil.

Matt takes Karen along to Foggy’s apartment where they manage to convince the landlord to let them inside. If he hadn’t, Matt would have just broken down the door. It was that simple.

‘Nothing unusual’ seems to become a theme in the matter, and Foggy’s apartment is no exception. Matt and Karen roam around for two hours. Karen sifts through what paperwork she can find. Bills, bank statements, invoices, the usual. No notes, no travel arrangements, no nothing. They’re back to square one.

“I don’t get it,” Karen tells Matt. “Why would he do something like this?”

“Like what?” Matt asks.

“Just leave.”

Matt’s anger flares up again. “Karen, he didn’t just _leave_! How can you even think that? Something must have happened. Something we’re not seeing.”

“Yeah,” she just says quietly, then, “Matt, what do we do if we can’t find him? If _they_ can’t find him?”

Matt doesn’t have an answer for her, because the scenario is unimaginable. They’ll find him. _He_ will find him. Or Foggy will reappear on his own. He’s sure of that. He just hopes it’s not too late. For what, he isn’t sure.

The streets of New York are hard to canvass as a normal blind person, but Matt thinks he has no choice. Daredevil and daylight don’t mix, and Matt’s not stupid. Desperate, yes. So he does what he can, following the clicks of his cane on the sidewalk and the stench and din of the city.

As soon as he can, Matt and Daredevil trade places. The night is too short for him to comb through all the neighborhoods he wanted to cover. There isn’t the slightest trace of Foggy anywhere. At one point he flinches because he thinks he’s detecting a familiar heartbeat, but then notices the subtle differences. Wishful thinking. The realization hurts.

He doesn’t get any sleep that night.

# Day 3

It’s been 72 hours, and they still have nothing.

The police tell them that the longer the search takes, the lower the chances are that a missing person is located. Matt chuckles hollowly. Yeah, he’s seen all the TV shows. Well, _heard_ all the TV shows. Heard Foggy narrating them to him every week. The memory hits like a sledgehammer, and Matt has to fight a sudden urge to vomit right there at the police station.

Karen’s hand on his arm offers a meager comfort, but it barely registers in the tornado of desperation, shock and despair that circles around Matt’s head.

His feet feel like lead when the two of them go to the office, and he isn’t sure he can make it up the stairs.

“I’ll go through his paperwork again,” Karen offers in a feeble attempt to keep busy.

He gets it. Any distraction is welcome, and the helplessness just crushes everything like a deadweight.

As a result, there’s lots of rustling from Foggy’s office, stacks of paper being shifted from left to right. He thinks he can hear a sniffle or two, her hands wiping quickly across her face. He can’t bring himself to comfort her, because he’s sure he’d be losing the last shred of composure he has left if he did.

Nothing seems to matter, and he doesn’t even remember what he’s been doing for the last hour. He’s exhausted and tired beyond belief, but too wired to just… take a breath. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He wishes he could wake up from this nightmare, wishes that Foggy would just appear in his office door with a quip readily available on his tongue, and the three of them would break into relieved laughter at the whole, silly misunderstanding.

The sheer thought of Foggy makes Matt’s breath hitch in his chest. He gets up with a start, draws in a shaky breath. He just barely makes it to the doorframe before the vertigo hits full force.

Next thing he knows, he’s crouching on the floor with Karen by his side. “Matt?” she asks urgently, “Matt?”

“I’m fine,” he croaks.

“Like hell you are. Jesus. When is the last time you slept? Ate anything?”

He shakes his head, wracks his brain for the information. “I… don’t remember.”

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

“No,” he quickly protests. “No, we need to find him.”

Karen softly touches his shoulder. “Matt, you’re no use to anyone like this, least of all Foggy. You have to sleep, have something to eat. If he were here, he’d tell you the same thing, and you know it.”

All Matt can do is let out a sarcastic huff, but he supposes Karen is right. May be right. He can’t think straight anymore, but can’t muster the energy to get into a discussion.

Then she’s gone, and back after a minute or two. He finds his fingers wrapping around a glass in his hand, and it’s cold. He can’t tell what it is, which is strange, because he should.

“It’s milk,” Karen says, holding something else out to him. “And these are our leftover cookies. That’s all we’ve got up here, but at least it’ll get your blood sugar up a little. We’ll get you something decent to eat on the way.”

Matt doesn’t protest and dutifully digs into the chocolate chip cookies and the milk. His mind is miles away, and they don’t taste of anything. Matt’s senses don’t do well with sleep deprivation.

The trip to his apartment becomes a blur. He vaguely remembers a taxi and some gentle urging. Karen helps him out of his clothes and into his bed. There’s a soothing hand on his arm that strokes in soft motions.

“Get some sleep,” she tells him. “I’ll call you if there’s any news, okay?”

He hums a reply and tries to drown out the crippling dizziness. It feels as if the bed is tilting sideways in all directions underneath him. Matt’s whole body doesn’t do well with sleep deprivation.

When he wakes, a touch of his alarm clock tells him it’s 11 PM. “Shit!” he hisses.

He checks his phone. There’s one text message from Karen. “No news. Hope you got some sleep. Text me when you’re awake.” He does.

That night, Daredevil decides to prowl outside of Hell’s Kitchen. He wonders how long it would take to comb through all of Manhattan. And who even knew if that wasn’t a futile endeavor to begin with. Foggy could be in Chicago, San Francisco or Dnepropetrovsk, for all they knew.

He makes it through the better part of Chelsea that night, but progress is slow because he doesn’t know the territory. Foggy has fallen off the face of the earth.

# Day 7

The police have given up searching for Foggy altogether now. No trace of him, no evidence, nothing suspicious whatsoever. There’s nothing that warrants an ongoing investigation.

Not even Brett can do anything. He apologizes profusely, lets Matt know how much he appreciated Foggy, offers words that sound a lot like condolences. Matt wants to yell at him—and possibly would have if Karen wasn’t standing next to him, squeezing his hand. Maybe she knew. She always knew.

Days bleed into each other, and Matt can’t remember what a proper sleep cycle looks like. He catches bits of it here and there, eats enough not to go through a repeat performance of last Thursday. Life has lost its meaning, and it’s getting to point where Karen’s constant worry grates on his nerves like fingernail on chalkboard. He sends her home around midday.

He must have fallen asleep with his head on his folded arms when his phone jolts him awake. He fumbles with it a little too hastily, gets lost in a submenu when he tries to bring up the notifications. It’s just a text that his phone bill is now available for download. He’s been wanting to switch off that notification feature for months.

His heart is still racing, and he gets up from his chair, suddenly antsy to move his legs. There’s no coffee left in the machine and he sighs. Just your luck, Murdock, he muses.

The small fridge they have in the kitchenette yields a few cans of soda. Matt can’t tell what kind, but he thinks his blood sugar level would appreciate any of them. And it’s not like he really cares all that much.

He opens one, and immediately knows it’s root beer. Not his favorite exactly. The smell brings back memories of college, of shared dorm rooms, nights of cramming for tests and too little sleep. It’s the taste that hits him hard, and he thinks perhaps the soda wasn’t such a good idea after all.

It’s less by conscious choice than by instinct that he ambles into Foggy’s office. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to enter the particular space ever since… last Tuesday. He takes another sip of root beer, feeling the cool wetness of the sweating can in his hand.

Everything in Foggy’s office smells of him. There’s a faint lingering scent of his aftershave and his deodorant. Matt reaches out with his senses and surveys the desk. Strangely, the first thing he focuses on is the stress ball Foggy had given Matt a while ago. He vaguely remembers a discussion about what shade of green it was. Matt has no idea why it is in Foggy’s office in the first place.

He starts roaming around, but more out of an urge to touch something of Foggy’s than to find possible clues. He trusts Karen’s instinct that if there were any, she would have found them by now. She’s surely been over Foggy’s things enough in the past few days.

His hands come across something soft that’s draped over the back of one of the folding chairs in the corner. It’s one of Foggy’s woolen sweaters, and the fabric feels familiar somehow. It’s full of Foggy scent, mixed with the remnants of a lemony washing detergent.

Matt doesn’t notice the tears that spring to his eyes as he takes it and lets his hands run over it. His legs suddenly won’t support his weight anymore, and he crumbles into the chair. The tears drip off his chin onto the sweater with soft plopping noises, and he lets out a desperate, “Shit, Foggy, where the hell are you?”

He wants to yell, wants to scream at the top of his lungs, because it’s been seven fucking days, and no sign of his best friend, no explanation, no indication of anything. And then he unleashes the anguished howl that’s been building for days.

He screams until he needs to gasp for air, and the air is too thin in here, and his voice is hoarse. This is Matt and Daredevil all rolled into one, their withering hope and their sorrow and their crushing loneliness.

He sits there for a long time, then bundles up the sweater and stuffs it into his much too small leather case. He needs to get out of here. There’s nothing but overwhelming memories in this room, and they’re suffocating him.

# Day 10

Matt has a pretty good support system, and the irony isn’t lost on him that it had to take something so drastic for him to realize that. Some mornings he can’t bother getting out of bed. Everything seems meaningless and the sheer knowledge of there not being a Foggy to cheerfully greet him is just too much to bear.

It’s those days that Karen calls until he picks up, sometimes drops by uninvited but yet welcome. She doesn’t ask questions, pushes only far enough for him not to be completely sucked into the darkest pit of depression.

He’s still in bed, no idea what time it is, when she pounds on the door until he finally opens it for her. He stands there, hair disheveled and still in his boxers and t-shirt, too exhausted to move, too empty to respond. And she just… knows.

She pulls him into a hug and squeezes lightly, doesn’t let go for a long time. It takes him a moment to react, but the simple gesture finally melts down his defenses and he lets himself lean into the embrace.

They’re both crying by the time they pull away, but she smiles a sad smile through the tears. “Remember when I told you you’re not alone? I’m here, Matt. I’ll always be, okay?”

He wipes at the tears, not feeling at all like the man without fear. “Thank you, Karen,” he tells her quietly.

And it’s not just Karen. He can tell that Claire is worried, too. Less for Foggy than for him. She calls when she can, comes to visit sometimes. The patching up is limited to minor scrapes and bruises, a mildly twisted ankle from the few times he’s slipped on unfamiliar territory or encountered an unexpected crime by sheer accident.

He’s grateful, and he knows he probably isn’t telling her that enough. He can’t even remember if he thanked her the last time she tended to his wounds. None of them truly needed any medical attention, but she never asked permission, and he never refused.

He has a one-track mind these days, and there’s a person standing at the end of the line that he needs to get to.

They don’t really talk much, and she usually quietly slips away when he starts withdrawing. But he knows he can call her any time he needs her.

# Day 15

Some days he thinks he’s accepted that Foggy may never come back. Most days, he expects him to waltz through those doors and hand out bagels and overpriced latte to make up for his sudden disappearance. Because, really, it was stupid and he didn’t know what he was _thinking_ , and it’s all good because he’s back now.

Karen’s smiles are sad, and their conversations become terser every day. They dance around the subject and circumnavigate the eggshells they’re trying not to step on.

That day, she comes into his office, lingers by the door. He lifts his head from his Braille paperwork, because they do need to make a living, even though going back to being a lawyer after these last two weeks has been the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“Matt?” she asks in that whispery voice of hers.

“Hm?”

“Do you want coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She comes back with two mugs, sitting herself down in the chair across his desk. She looks down and her hair falls around her face with a soft whisper. “I know it’s just been two weeks, but I really miss him.”

Emotion weaves its way across Matt’s face, but he quickly rearranges the figurative mask. “Yeah, me too.”

“So what do you think happened? I mean, you must have some kind of theory, right?”

Does he? He’s gone through every possible scenario in his head at one time or another. None would stick, none felt even remotely right or plausible.

“I don’t know,” he just states.

“I mean, it’s just so strange, you know? I know he would never leave without telling either of us. Or would he? You’ve known him much longer than me. Can you honestly say he would never do such a thing? _Never_?”

“He would never do such a thing,” Matt repeats with a certain insistence to his voice. “I know Foggy. He wouldn’t.”

“So what then? A crime? Why could the police never find anything?”

He sighs, and there’s an exasperation there he doesn’t want to hide. “I don’t know, Karen. We might never know.”

“Yeah, and that’s the worst part of all of this. Not that it would make Foggy not being here any better, but just the damn uncertainty. That’s killing me.”

He doesn’t comment, because what is there to say? He has a closet the size of a warehouse full of what-if scenarios he roams through on a regular basis. It’s never getting him anywhere.

Her voice has a challenging tone to it, something a little too harsh. “Why, Matt? Why would you just sit there and work like nothing’s happened? We should be out looking for him, searching the internet, looking at newspapers, blogs, fucking, I don’t know, police files or something!”

That’s not fair, and she knows it. Nor does she know that he’s been all over Manhattan by this point, still roaming the city every night. He’s never gotten anywhere, and it’s wearing him down more that he’d care to admit.

He’s tired. Tired beyond belief, and he doesn’t have any energy left to fight. “Thanks for the coffee,” he says curtly. “I think this conversation is over.”

They don’t talk again for the rest of the day.

# Day 25

He receives a phone call from Foggy’s mother. Not Rosalind. His stepmother, Anna. The one who actually cares about Foggy as a person.

She asks Matt how he is, then invites him to come visit. He appreciates the gesture, he really does, but it isn’t something he can do right now. He feels bad about it, because the Nelsons have never been anything other than welcoming, loving, and well-intentioned. He’s been there for many Christmases and Thanksgivings, and he always reveled in the warmth and the love of the Nelson home.

But he knows he can’t take that right now. And he’s not done searching the city. He politely declines the invitation.

# Day 33

It’s a Saturday, and the first time in over a month that he puts on the suit and doesn’t go out with the sole purpose of trying to find Foggy. The intent is always there, to find that one familiar heartbeat, hear that voice he’s heard so many times that he has a version of it in his head, but it’s not predominating his mission tonight.

Hell’s Kitchen is still a cesspool for crime and malice. Matt stops two B&Es, an escalating street brawl, and keeps a teenager from jumping off a rooftop. He waits for the usual feeling of accomplishment afterwards, but it’s conspicuously absent.

Just like Foggy.

# Day 36

It’s the quiet days that are the worst. He doesn’t so much mind the busy ones, because he welcomes the distraction, tries to bury himself in it.

The one case they currently have is slow going, and Karen’s doing most of the research. Even Hell’s Kitchen is quiet at night. A heat wave is scorching the upper east coast, and the resulting inertia cripples the criminals as much as the city.

Matt wakes up early to the sound of his air conditioning unit whirring too loudly, barely able to keep up with the outside temperatures. His sheets are tangled around him, his skin is sticky with sweat, and there’s a hollowness inside him that seems intent on swallowing him whole.

Dark, hostile thoughts chase each other in his head well into the morning hours, and he just wants to curl up and not exist. Foggy is ever-present in his mind, and he can hear him berating Matt for abandoning hope, for giving up on him, for not being a decent friend, for being selfish and such a failure.

Matt wants to yell and claw the images from his mind, but he also doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to live.

He can just barely muster the energy and call in sick. He doesn’t leave his bed for most of the day.

# Day 37

“Matt?”

The voice is familiar, and it takes him a minute to assign a person to it—Karen. Maybe he fell asleep. He probably did.

The empty bottle of gin on the floor topples over when he peels himself off the couch. And he doesn’t even like gin.

“Jesus, Matt.”

The voice is too close. She’s right in his apartment. How did she get here? He can’t think clearly, everything is hazy, muddy, and his head hurts. A lot.

“Thank you,” he can hear Karen say to someone, “I’ve got it from here.”

The someone leaves and the door clicks into the lock behind them.

“Karen? How did you get in?”

“I had the landlord open the door for me. Took some persuading, but when you didn’t turn up for work all day, I got worried. With good reason, it seems.”

Her voice is too loud, and he can’t take any more reprimanding. Not today. He lets his body sag back onto the couch, puts his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I should have called.”

“Yes,” she says sharply, “You should. Cause not coming in without letting me know? You don’t do that to me, Matt. Ever. You of all people should know that.”

Yes, he should. He’s a terrible person. The Foggy in his head seems to have a point.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, lacking the honesty that the statement deserves.

Karen seems to soften, doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She doesn’t move. Her voice is gentler. “Are you okay?”

 _No, I’m not fucking okay,_ he wants to yell. How is it that suddenly she can’t see that? She used to be better at this.

“I’m fine, Karen,” he says off-handedly. He chastises himself. He’s usually better at lying.

“Yeah, I can see that. How bad is the hangover?”

About as bad as they get. Well, he’s had worse. Foggy and he, they’ve both had worse. And there’s Foggy back in his head, with a guilt-inducing accusation of all the things they’ve been through in college not meaning a damn thing to Matt.

Matt presses his thumbs into his temples, willing it to stop. He jumps when there’s a touch on his forearm.

“Hey, easy,” Karen soothes him. She holds a glass out to him. Water. How did he miss her getting it?

He accepts it and gulps down several mouthfuls. He didn’t even realize how parched he was until now.

She says, “I’ll make some coffee, okay?”

He just nods.

The bittersweet aroma of ground coffee beans soon fills the apartment, and Matt finds himself holding a mug of the steaming, strong brew in his hands. Karen sits down next to him. They sip the hot beverage in silence.

It takes a few minutes for her to prompt, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but maybe it’d be good if you tried.”

Something profound he can’t quite classify washes over him, contorts his facial muscles for a second or two. He shakes his head. The words just won’t form.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she says. “Cause I think, on some level, that’s what you’re telling yourself. It’s no one’s fault. Not mine, not yours. I mean, yeah, we don’t know what happened, why he’s gone. But you didn’t do anything wrong. And don’t you dare tell yourself anything different.”

He lets out a hollow breath. “And how would you know?”

“Because you’re a good person. Foggy couldn’t have wished for a better friend.”

And that’s where she’s wrong. Because she doesn’t know. Can’t know. No one truly knows him. Foggy was getting closer than anyone, but even he never grasped the levels of what Matt’s life is like, the urges he has, the dark forces that fester inside of him.

There’s no way he’s telling Karen any of this. He puts the coffee on the couch table and leans back against the cushions.

She follows suit, stays silent. After a minute, she leans closer and lets her head rest on his shoulder.

“I worry about you,” she says just above a whisper.

There are sudden tears in his eyes. He doesn’t deserve this. Her.

They sit motionless for a long time. Their coffee is lukewarm by the time she gets up and plants a soft kiss on his forehead. “You know, no offense, Matt, but you really could use a shower.”

He tries to remember when he last showered. Yesterday morning? It seems like an eternity ago. There’s more gentle prodding that he finally yields to.

Afterwards he feels a little better, and he’s grateful there’s someone here to keep his head above water. There’s more coffee (not as strong this time) and a haphazard breakfast from the edible items he keeps around. Karen mentions she’s going to go grocery shopping for him later. He doesn’t care all that much. Food isn’t a priority these days.

# Day 38

The next morning, he’s already up by the time Karen knocks on his door. Dragging his body out of bed was a struggle, but he fought hard enough against the current today to make it. She makes it a point to lightly touch his shoulder on her way in. He smells bagels and latte from the coffee shop across the street.

“Hey Matt?” she asks cheerfully when he’s finished his cream cheese and chives bagel. “What do you say we take a little trip outside?”

He frowns. Not sure he likes the idea.

She continues, “The temperatures aren’t as hot today, and it’s actually bearable outside. It’s been a while since I’ve been to Central Park. What do you think?”

He shrugs. “Hm.”

“Not the level of enthusiasm I was hoping for, but I’ll take that as a yes.”

The walk to Central Park takes about half an hour. The streets are fairly busy, but Matt has no trouble navigating them. He can’t quite bring himself to take Karen’s elbow the way he used to do with Foggy, and he thinks she knows, because she never presses the issue.

They find a bench in the half shade by the Pond. He can feel the warmth of the sunny spots filtering through the leaves overhead on his thighs, and there’s bird and duck sounds mingling with the faint whooshing of cars in the background. It smells like the grass nearby was cut a day or two ago, given away by the lingering odor of oxygenated hydrocarbons.

He takes a deep breath and tilts his chin up half an inch. He has a sudden urge to hug Karen, but lets it pass because she’s leaning back on the bench next to him, relaxed and content.

She takes off her sunglasses and pushes them to the top of her head. “You know, whenever I’m here, I always think I should do this more often, but then I never do. Why is that?”

“The human psyche is inherently lazy.”

“Is that some fancy Einstein quote, or something?”

“No, that’s a Murdock original.”

“And a good one. Let’s get it printed on a mug. I can already see it.” She makes a gesture with her hand. “The human psyche is inherently lazy. Dash Matthew Murdock.”

He gives her a light chuckle, and it feels good. It is then he realizes that, somehow, she managed to get him free of the dark, paralyzing web he’s been stuck in for days. Or at least cut an opening into it that he can use to pull himself out.

“Did you make any headway with the case?” he asks.

“You really wanna talk about work?”

He nods. “I think I may have missed a few things in the past couple of days, and I… well, I probably left you alone with that when I shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, please don’t worry about that. But, yes, there’s a few things I found out I think we can use. But I need you to put them into the legal context. There’s only so much I can do with that. But actually… there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.

“I pulled some strings, and I’ve been looking into files and reported John Does in the last month.”

“And?”

She sighs. “Nothing much. A few tentative leads, but nothing concrete. Lots of dead ends.”

“I’d like to help,” he offers.

She stays silent for a moment. “I’m not really sure there’s much you can do. But I’ll keep you in the loop, okay?”

“Please.”

He can’t believe she’s been doing this alone all this time. But maybe that’s just as well. She’s doing her inquisitive thing, and he’s doing his. He likes to think they’re a pretty good team, he and Karen.

# Day 58

Sometimes Matt thinks that there’s a certain sense of normalcy returning to his life, as unfathomable as that may have seemed all those weeks ago. Two months is a enough time to get used to something, and it’s no time at all when that something is your best friend inexplicably disappearing from your life.

He’s putting together the documents for the court date he has later, tries to find that file he’s sure he left on the desk. He can sense that Karen is leaning against the doorframe, and there’s something on her mind.

When he stops doing what he’s doing and focuses his attention on her, she asks him, “Matt, do you think… Do you think we should have some kind of memorial for Foggy? I mean, no, not memorial. That would imply he’s dead. Which I’m sure he isn’t. Just… I don’t know. Kind of a commemoration celebration or something? It just… it feels wrong not to remember him somehow.”

‘No!’ he wants to yell. That would imply Foggy’s not coming back, and Foggy has to come back. One day. He _has_ to.

She adds, “I just think it would give us some closure, you know?”

He doesn’t want fucking closure, why can’t she see that? He shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

She gives him a small nod. “Yeah, I understand.”

But does she? She stopped poking around in the databases and police reports a while ago. She seems to have accepted it. But Matt can’t. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that a world could exist in which Foggy would simply never come back. Disappear from Matt’s life completely, without a word of explanation.

But how? How could Foggy do this to him? How the fuck could he just leave? Did he not know what that would do to Matt? To Karen? He likes to think he would, which is why he still thinks Foggy might have been kidnapped, or otherwise vanished against his will. Matt doesn’t like to think of those scenarios too much, because they already recur in his nightmares often enough.

And those are never pretty. There’s too much blood, or the harsh ring of a gunshot piercing the silence, or fists, crowbars, baseball bats, more guns, and any kind of weapon that could inflict serious damage to a human body. Matt’s seen them all, and the sweat in his sheets or the stifled screams tell the tale.

“It’s just… it’s been two months,” she says. “I know we both keep hoping he’ll come back, but let’s face it. How likely is that? I mean, really?”

He knows all this. He knows with every passing day, the likelihood of Foggy making a reappearance in their lives continues towards zero on a steadily falling curve.

“Can we please not talk about that right now?” he pleads.

She nods, giving him an apologetic smile. “Yeah, sure. Sorry I brought it up.”

“No, it’s okay,” he quickly assures her, but he can tell that she doesn’t buy it.

He stuffs the last of the documents into his case and squeezes past Karen. The day in court is a welcome distraction, and there’s more normalcy there. Perhaps Matt can make it through this. There’s a tiny bit of a possibility that he’s only just ready to grasp.

# Day 90

Matt gets another call from Anna Nelson. There’s some small talk, but Anna gets to the point eventually. They’re going to dissolve Foggy’s household.

This hits Matt hard. It’s a decision that has a finality to it that he’s not ready to accept. But it tells him _they_ have. Everyone has. Except Matt.

Sure, the pain isn’t there on the surface anymore. It just comes in sharp pangs of memory, often unexpected, and then it smarts like it happened yesterday.

Anna asks him if he wants to stop by and help sorting out Foggy’s belongings, if there’s anything he wants to have. He thinks about it for a moment, but doesn’t think he does. Mementoes don’t mean much when you can’t see them, and he has enough in his head to remember Foggy by.

He tells her no and thanks her for calling and wishes her and her husband the best before they hang up.

Cold, frustrated rage bubbles up inside of him with a vengeance he hadn’t expected. He reaches out for the nearest object and hurls it across the room. The hole puncher crashes into the wall to the kitchen and then clatters to the floor.

Karen appears in the doorway. “Matt? Everything okay?”

“No,” he growls.

“What happened?”

“Anna Nelson called. They’re going to clear out Foggy’s apartment.”

“Oh,” she states.

“Yeah. _Oh_ ,” he repeats.

Her voice is quiet when she says, “Well, it’s been three months. Can you really blame them?”

Yes, he can. Or at least he’d like to. His energy slowly deflates and his voice is dejected when he says, “Why? Why does everyone just accept he’s not going to return? We don’t know that he won’t. He could come entering through those doors any minute. And then what?”

“Then we’d deal with that, figure out what to do. But don’t you think it’s time to accept that, by now, it’s more likely that won’t happen? That he’s just… gone.”

“No,” he simply states, and Karen wisely leaves it at the agreement to disagree.

# Day 101

For the first time in four months, Matt finds his way to the church. It’s the quiet time in the evening, when he knows Father Lantom will spend a moment in the pews to reflect on the day.

Matt’s cane clicks on the tiled floor, and the sound reverberates hollowly in the deserted building. There’s no one here, and for a moment he wonders if he’s come at the wrong time, but then he hears the soft footfall. It’s uneven, there’s a slight limp there Matt has never noticed before.

Lantom sits down in front of Matt with a groan, and Matt asks, “Father? Are you injured?”

“Damn arthritis. Bones aren’t as good as they used to be.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Well, at least there’s modern medicine.”

They sit in silence for a long while, both waiting for the other to break the ice but feeling comfortable enough to not immediately take the first step. It’s Father Lantom who finally does it.

“It’s usually something troubling you that brings you here. I’m guessing today is not an exception?”

“Someone I care about a great deal has disappeared.”

Lantom waits patiently, then he prompts, “I think you need to elaborate on that if you want me to understand.”

Matt sighs, doesn’t want to recount it all, but he also sees that he will have to. “My best friend, one of the few people who truly mean something to me… three months ago, he disappeared. Without a trace, in the literal sense of the word. It’s blown a hole in my world that I can’t seem to plug.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Matthew. I assume the police went looking?”

He lets out a sarcastic breath. “Yeah, all of seven days. They could never find any foul play. My friends and I kept searching, of course. No luck.”

“And now you’re wondering where the justice in all of it lies. Or if it’s a reaction to the things you’ve been struggling with. If the devil in you is finally catching up to you.”

“Something like that.”

Lantom shifts slightly in his seat. “All the years I’ve been doing this, there’s one thing that I’ve learned. There’s seldom any sense in what people perceive as their own, personal punishment. And often it’s not the question of ‘why’ we should be looking to answer, it’s the question of ‘how’. How to process it, how to go on, how to make a terrible thing into something good. Or at least something better.”

“How? How can I ever make this into something good? I’ve lost the one person whom I thought truly knew me. Or knew me as much as I would _let_ anyone know me. There is nothing good that could possibly come of that.”

“Oh, but you only need to look hard enough. Are you looking, Matthew?”

“How can I, I’m blind.”

“I wasn’t referring to your eyesight, and I think you know that.”

“Don’t you have a fancy bible quote to go with that?”

“’We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame.’ Romans, I believe.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but that’s a cliché if there ever was one. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Is that it? Well, I’d like think that I’ve been granted enough strength for a lifetime—and that was already before Foggy dropped off the face of the earth.”

“But aren’t you still looking at the ‘why’ when you say that?”

Damn the man. He knew how to twist your words, turn your thoughts inside out and throw the bare essence back at you to carefully dissect.

Father Lantom continues, “I cannot tell you why certain things happen to people, or whether there’s any divine intention behind them. Whether He means to punish you, or what the purpose of yet another trial may be. All I can tell you is to accept it and run with it. Do the best that you can, and hope it’s enough, hope that it helps you when the next shoe drops. Because there’s always a next shoe. It’s only the period of time between them that makes all the difference.”

A grim smile flashes across Matt’s face. “As far as encouragement goes, you’re not exactly at your best and brightest tonight.”

“Sometimes it’s honesty that people need, not whitewashing.”

“It’s not honesty I need, it’s to have my friend back.”

Lantom smiles a sad smile. “I’m many things, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

That, he definitely isn’t. But there’s a take-home message here that Matt still needs to interpret. That’s the thing about Father Lantom. What he’s truly said will only become clear when you’ve slept on it.

# Day 126

Matt and Karen know they need to make some changes. They discussed long and hard about it, but the money’s not coming in, they’re struggling harder than ever before. They both have to admit it’s time they did something about it.

Karen placed the add on craigslist, and it didn’t take long for people to start calling. It turns out there are a lot of lawyers who need halfway affordable office space in Hell’s Kitchen. They interview maybe eight or nine, Matt loses count at some point.

When they find one Felix Bruhn, they know he’s the one. There’s none of the awkward, “Oh, you’re blind, I’m sorry,” fumbling when they first meet. He takes one look at Matt and says, “Hi, I’m Felix. If you hold out your hand, I’d love to shake it.”

His handshake is firm, and it turns out he has a blind sister. He’s spectacular at being around Matt. He knows what to do, what to say, how to read Braille, how to translate visual cues into words when needed.

It’s clear that he’s no Foggy, but that’s good, because a second Foggy is the least thing either Matt or Karen want.

Felix is a patent attorney, specializing in the biotech area. He works as a consultant, and he assures them it makes good money. He’s relatively young and just getting into the field, which is why he can’t afford a fancy office with an elevator and a view. He thinks the place is great, and he doesn’t mind the paint flaking off the doorframes or the not exactly state-of-the-art equipment.

“We all start somewhere, right?” he remarks.

Matt and Karen both decide that same day that they’d love to work with Felix.

# Day 131

That Saturday, they clear our Foggy’s office.

Matt wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but even _he_ has to yield to rational decisions. It’s been four months since Foggy disappeared. He doesn’t like to call it moving on, but he’s moving… somewhere. Forward, hopefully. Maybe a little sideways.

Karen’s brought lots of boxes and is already packing some of Foggy’s things away. Matt’s first instinct is to tell her to stop, but he doesn’t. This needs to be done, even though he doesn’t want to do it.

They work for hours in relative silence. Matt has to bite back tears several times, especially when Karen asks him what she should do with the plastic dinosaurs. He keeps them, puts them on his own desk.

At the end of the day, there’s a stack of boxes to be put in storage, and another stack to be thrown out. Both Karen and Matt have kept a few mementoes here and there, and they’re also both drained.

They end up in Josie’s bar that night. Nothing’s more appropriate than to end the day on spirits with eels. A great amount of it in a short time period, in fact. Matt tries to enjoy the buzz he starts feeling way too soon, hoping he won’t regret it the next day.

Well, he will. But it’s not like it matters much after a day like this, and Karen doesn’t seem to object. They reminisce the good old times and Matt gets to recount a few college era stories. Karen has a high pitched giggle that she offers in response to most of them. Josie calls them a cab when she locks up around 2 AM.

# Day 151

Felix moved in the Monday after they cleared out Foggy’s office. He’s direct and says what he thinks. He doesn’t beat around the bush, and Matt quickly learns to appreciate the honesty. He finds it refreshing, actually.

He knows Felix sometimes rubs Karen the wrong way, but it’s never angry or malicious. She just needs to learn to tell him when something bothers her, because his directness works both ways. He takes criticism on the chin, and then does something about it. Matt is hopeful they will all become friends in good time.

After two weeks with them, he brings in a cardboard box that he places in the kitchen. Matt isn’t in yet, so he says to a curious Karen, “I know it may be a bit early to start with home improvements, but there’s one thing that a patent attorney basically needs to live, and that, quite frankly, is decent coffee. So let this be my present to our little community.”

He unwraps the package and put the capsule coffee machine on the kitchen counter, and an assortment of capsules of different strengths and flavors next to it.

Karen lingers in the doorway, unsure what to say. There’s a déjà vu here, and her eyes start watering, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Felix.

“Oh, uh, did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she quickly denies, “This just brings back memories. Foggy used to complain about my coffee making skills, and it just…” She leaves it hanging in the air.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make this awkward. I probably should have asked first.”

She gives him a smile. “It’s fine, Felix. We could use a better coffee maker. One that even I can operate with decent results.”

He fiddles with the power cord, starts setting up the machine while Karen leafs through the manual. As they both watch the machine rinsing the water system, Felix says, “Can I ask what happened with my predecessor? There’s obviously some history here.”

She gives him a quick shrug. “He disappeared. Without a trace. I mean, I know that sounds so cliché, but it’s what happened. One day he just didn’t turn up for work, and no one could ever figure out where he is and what happened. Matt and Foggy, they were pretty tight. Best friends. They’ve know each other since college.”

“Since when has he been missing?”

“About five months.”

“That must have been tough. I had no idea.”

“No, and how could you? You know, it wasn’t easy taking someone else on. This law firm was kinda like a family business. Nelson and Murdock. They had it all figured out. Help the people who really need it rather than going the fancy corporate route, going after the big bucks.” She lets out a short, hollow laugh. “Why am I telling you all this?”

He softens. “I’m glad you did.”

“You know, we’re not looking for you to fill anyone’s shoes, in case I’ve given you that impression.”

“No, no,” he quickly says. “I get it. And I’m glad to be here. Next time I’ll make sure to talk to you guys before I go out and buy things for all of us.”

That same afternoon, there’s a light rap on Matt’s doorframe. Felix is standing there, and Matt looks up at him.

“Do you have a minute?” Felix asks.

“Sure,” Matt invites him, and Felix sits down in one of the chairs across from Matt.

“Look, I know this is a bit of an awkward topic, but Karen told me about your friend.”

“Foggy?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Matt. I just wanted to say, if there’s anything I can do to make things easier, please let me know.”

That’s an incredibly nice thing to say, and Matt can’t help but tear up a little. Thankfully, Felix can’t see it behind the glasses.

“Thanks, Felix,” he simply says.

“Oh, and uh… I should have asked before I bought that new coffee machine. I hope I didn’t step on any toes.”

“We have a new coffee machine?”

Felix laughs. “Yeah. One of those fancy capsule things. Guess I should start Braille labeling the different capsule types, didn’t get round to doing that yet. We have a selection ranging from decaf to balanced, fruity and intense. Let me know if want me to take you through how to operate it.”

“At this point it’s probably most important that Karen knows how to use it.”

“If I wasn’t the new guy around here, I’d say that’s kind of a sexist comment, but I’ll bite my tongue for now,” he says with a smirk. “Oops, too late. But to reassure you, she does. I volunteered to play guinea pig and can report a positive outcome.”

Matt gives him a quick smile. “I was hoping there were perks when we agreed to have you join us.”

“Yes, next on my list is a portable sauna and a Dolby surround entertainment center. We don’t really need the meeting room, do we?” Felix deadpans.

Matt lets out a quick chuckle. “Yeah, let me run that by Karen first.”

It’s then that Karen appears in the doorway. “I heard my name?”

Matt looks in her direction. “Felix wants to put a portable sauna and an entertainment center in our meeting room. You wouldn’t have a problem with that, would you?”

“Dibs on the Wii,” she says. “And by the way, I totally kill it at Okami. You’d have nothing on me.”

Felix looks at her. “I’m gonna have to invite you over to our place. I have a feeling you and my husband would totally hit it off.”

“I accept the challenge,” she laughs.

“Weekend after next, how’s that sound? You too, Matt.”

And just like that, the ice is broken.

# Day 229

Matt was sure this year’s Christmas would be lonely and filled with regret and crippling memories. Instead, he finds himself in the company of Felix, his husband Donnie, their adopted son Seth, and an assortment of other family members.

It’s a joyous group, and there’s food and laughter in abundance. Matt can’t help but admit that he’s actually having a good time. He’s glad he accepted the invite, even though he waited a good while to actually say yes.

It’s easy being with them, because Felix’ blind sister has them all acclimatized to the limitations of having no eyesight. It’s almost a bit too perfect, and Matt wonders when the next shoe will drop. It hasn’t yet.

The home-made egg nog soon has him basking in a nice but not too distracting glow, and after dinner he finds himself on the couch next to Lynn, Felix’ sister.

“So,” she says to him, “You’re the colleague Felix keeps raving about, huh?”

He isn’t sure what to respond to that. “And you’re the sister he keeps singing praises of.”

“Welcome to Team Cripple, then.”

He has to laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t really see myself that way.”

“Hey, I’m kidding. I have a chemistry degree. I’m fucking awesome.”

Matt isn’t sure if she’s this boisterous all the time, or if it’s the alcohol speaking. “Then I’d say ‘Welcome to Team Awesome’ is more appropriate.”

Her laugh is pleasant and happy. “I like you,” she tells him straight out. He sees now where Felix gets his directness from.

“I’d like to say the feeling is mutual, but I’ve barely known you for three hours. Or, well, ten minutes, if we’re being honest.”

“Do you think people are staring at us? Expect us to feel each other’s faces, or something?”

Matt gauges the room, and he knows no one’s really paying them any particular attention, but of course he can’t say that. “I didn’t know tonight came with blind people behavioral expectations, otherwise I might have brushed up on that.”

“I’m just messing with you. Sorry, I may have had a little too much red wine.” There’s a pause, then she says, “To be honest, I don’t really like spending too much time with other blind people. I mean, yeah, it kinda sucks that we can’t see, but it’s not like moaning about it really changes anything, right? And those support groups, there’s a lot of moaning. At least the ones I’ve been to. Are you NLP?”

“Yes, since I was nine. Accident. You?”

“BLP, but that still means I can’t see shit. Birth defect, so yay me. You know, sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to see, at least for a while. Like colors. That’s such a difficult concept to grasp, although I think I do see them in my head sometimes. Does that even make any sense?”

“It does. I still see them.” Matt is suddenly intrigued. “There’s something I’d like to ask. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, knock yourself out.”

“Do you dream? I mean, visually?”

“Way to get personal, Murdock.”

He briefly wonders how she knows his last name, but Felix must have mentioned it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s cool, don’t worry. Thing is, I’m not sure how to answer that. I have a vague idea how things might be represented visually, but since I’ve never been able to see, who the hell knows if it’s not just all a figment of my imagination. I’m guessing that’s different for you?”

“Yes. Some dreams are visually very vivid. Especially the nightmares.”

“Have a lot of those, do you?” she asks it in a light-hearted, joking kind of way, but it hits a little too close to home.

“Every now and then,” he says noncommittally.

“Oh, Jesus,” she suddenly says, “Felix mentioned your friend. I’m such a klutz. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for this to be awkward.”

“No, it’s okay. It happened months ago. It’s not like I haven’t had time to process.”

“Mind telling me what happened? Felix just said something about a missing person’s case gone cold…?”

Does he mind? He isn’t sure. He doesn’t know this person, why are they even talking about Foggy? The shutters come down. “Yeah, I’d rather not, to be honest.”

“That’s okay,” she says, and her tone sounds sincere. “Like you said, you’ve barely known me for ten minutes. Well, going on twenty now, probably. Tell me about your law firm. Or better yet, tell me about my brother. I wanna hear all the dirty, embarrassing secrets.”

“He has dirty, embarrassing secrets?” Matt smiles

“Damn. You’re no good,” she mock pouts, and all awkwardness is dispelled.

Seth ambles over to them. “Aunt Lynn?”

“Yes, honey?”

He grumbles, “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, Seth?”

“Can we play Taboo?”

“I’d love to. Matt, wanna join?”

Matt frowns. “If you explain to me what Taboo is, I might.”

She gives him another one of her happy laughs and launches into an explanation about the word game that Felix, Donnie and Seth spent weeks last year to make a Braille version of it just for her. Apparently, they put the PDFs online, and it’s become a popular download.

It sounds good to Matt, and the merry group is quickly divided into two teams who start shouting words at each other.

Time passes quickly in good company, and Matt only gets home in the wee hours. He decides that Daredevil has earned himself a vacation day.

When he finally lies in bed with a smile on his face, he thinks it’s one of the nicer Christmases he’s spent in recent years.

# Day 258

It’s Foggy’s birthday today. Matt dreads getting out of bed the moment he wakes up. He listens to the city, and it must be around 7. Rush hour is starting to pick up, people are going into work. Matt groans, not sure he can face this day.

Karen suggested they do something that Foggy liked, and the one thing that immediately comes to Matt’s mind is the ferry. Foggy liked going over to Staten Island and feel the wind in his hair, enjoy the scenery and a grand view of Lady Liberty. Granted, maybe not in late January, but it just feels like it’s the appropriate thing to suggest.

There’s only one problem. Matt isn’t so great with boats. His senses get all out of whack from the swaying, and he tends to get nauseous. At hearing this, Karen was ready to dismiss the notion of a ferry trip in Foggy’s honor, but Matt insisted strongly enough to do it anyway. The ride is just half an hour, and he’d be able to brave it. He’s dealt with things a lot worse.

They meet at the Whitehall Terminal at the southern end of Manhattan. Felix, Donnie and Seth are invited too, because they figured Foggy would have liked that. He’s always had a thing for family, and they’ve become somewhat of an extended office family now.

Karen hands Matt a small cardboard package before they embark, explaining it’s motion sickness chewing gum. Matt never knew such a thing existed, but accepts it gladly.

They stay inside at first, because the temperatures are frigid, but as soon as the ferry sets off, Matt’s stomach starts to roil. He pops a chewing gum in his mouth and excuses himself. Karen quickly follows him.

“I know it’s cold, but let’s go outside. I think the fresh air might help,” she offers.

“Yeah.”

He pulls his woolen scarf tighter around his neck when the biting wind hits his face. Karen takes his elbow and guides him over to the railing that he grips with white knuckles.

“That bad, huh?” she asks.

“Me and water, we don’t really mix.” He wishes he could explain to her why.

“They say you’re supposed to keep your eyes on the horizon, but that’s shit advice in your case.”

He gives her a light chuckle. “Yeah, pretty much.”

He chews a little harder, and thinks maybe the nausea is lessening a bit. “Tell me what you see,” he says to Karen.

“Do you remember the New York skyline?”

“Yeah. In a vague, non-specific kind of way.”

“Well, there’s lots of that. The Lower Manhattan skyscrapers, they’re poking out from behind the smaller buildings. There’s Governor’s Island to the left, Statue of Liberty to the right. A bit of Brooklyn in the distance. It’s an overcast day today, so it’s kinda hazy. It all looks pretty gray, to be honest. Does that help?”

“I’m trying to imagine it.”

“I can add more explanation if you like. Like, over there on Governor’s Island, there’s redbrick buildings, I think it’s Castle Williams. One of them is built like a semicircle. It actually looks more like a prison than anything from here.

“The Statue of Liberty is getting closer. You know she’s pretty much all green by now, right? And she’s still magnificent. Have you ever been? You know, before the accident?”

“Yeah, my dad took me once. I remember being intimidated by its size. But, well, I was eight. Everything seemed huge then.”

“She’s still huge, even at 29.”

He gives her a light chuckle. She stands a little closer. “You know, I think Foggy would have liked this.”

He smiles. “Yes, he would.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone. I mean, not like dead-gone. Just… gone from our lives. Because I want to believe that he’s still out there somewhere. You know, lying on a beach, enjoying sweet life and just… I don’t know. Being Foggy. Maybe he calls himself Franklin now.”

Matt thinks about this. He can’t really picture Foggy on a beach without a care in the world. It doesn’t want to seem to fit the picture. Most of his own scenarios that leave Foggy alive involve a brutal crime, abduction, violence, amnesia, or maybe a coma.

But Matt doesn’t want to dwell on this today. “Wherever he is, I hope he’s happy. He deserves that.”

Karen puts her hand on top of his. “You know what? I’m actually really proud of you.”

“How so?”

“You and Foggy, you were so close. For a while, I thought this would completely destroy you. But it didn’t. That’s something to be proud of.”

Maybe it is, but he’s never quite seen it this way. Maybe Karen knows this, but there have been moments where he didn’t think he could or want to go on living. Though they were never strong enough on act on them.

“I’ve had a lot of help. And honestly? I couldn’t have done it without you. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for that.”

She curls one arm around his and leans into his side, pulling him closer. “Maybe it wasn’t quite the same for me, but I can honestly say the feeling is mutual.”

They stand like this for a while, the cold wind whipping around them and tousling their hair. That’s how Felix, Donnie and Seth find them.

“Here you are,” Felix greets them. “Wanna come raid the vending machine with us?”

Matt isn’t sure he’s quite ready for food intake, but he indulges them anyway.

He’s glad when he feels solid ground beneath his feet again after they disembark on Staten Island. He secretly hopes they can take another route of transportation back to Manhattan. Maybe he can convince Karen of that.

# Day 353

Matt comes a little too close to revealing his secret. Unintentionally, of course, but dangerously close all the same.

Daredevil isn’t much of a topic in the office anymore, mainly because the novelty has worn off and the media only cover him when there’s something towards the top of the ‘spectacular’ scale. And that’s just fine with Matt.

Also, Felix isn’t really much of a TV or press person. He says he never watches regular television, and he’s not a newspaper reader. Most of his popular media knowledge is second hand, he admits.

This time, the whole thing is entirely the fault of Matt’s own sloppiness. The previous night, Matt had a particularly nasty encounter with a too resourceful thug. The scumbag managed to deep-bruise Matt’s thigh to the point where every step is agony, and landed a heavy blow to Matt’s head. Matt thought he could sleep it off, but it slowly turned into a migraine, the further the day progressed.

It’s Felix who offers to accompany a slightly disoriented and not particularly functional Matt home that afternoon.

Together they hobble into the apartment, and Matt only barely makes it to the bathroom before he starts throwing up the remains of his scarce breakfast. It’s followed by acrid bile, and lots of retching. He wishes Felix didn’t have to witness it.

Matt stumbles into the bedroom, vaguely aware of Felix helping him get out of his shoes and some of his clothes. Matt feels too miserable to give in to anything remotely like awkwardness. Sheets are being arranged around him and he just wants to curl up and die.

“Is there anything I can do?” Felix asks softly.

Matt tries to shake his head, but it hurts.

“Do you want me to stick around?”

Matt doesn’t know how to answer that. What they have feels like a tentative friendship, and maybe it’s Matt who’s giving his best to keep the guy at arm’s length. He doesn’t have migraines very often, but when he does, they’re always crippling and everything is so much better when there’s someone around to lend a hand.

Under normal circumstances, Matt would never admit that. But this isn’t normal, because everything’s too loud and too oppressive and too much, so Matt gives a little grunt that Felix seems to interpret as a yes.

Matt wakes up a few hours later, with a head that feels like it’s wrapped too tightly in cellophane. There’s a steady jackhammer being taken to the base of his skull, but it’s more bearable than before. Dizziness makes his head spin when he attempts to get up, but he eventually manages. His thigh still hurts like a bitch.

“Feeling any better?” Felix asks from the living room.

“A little,” Matt offers. “These things usually last a day or two.”

“Shit, that sucks.”

“It really does.”

“Have them often?”

“Not particularly. I don’t know. Once or twice a year, maybe?”

Felix walks over to the kitchen and lingers by the refrigerator. “Okay, so admittedly, I did a little online research, and there seems to be a consensus that caffeine helps. Coffee probably isn’t the best idea on an empty stomach, so I went ahead and bought some saltines and Coke. Please tell me that wasn’t a terrible idea.”

Matt lets his mouth spread into a hint of a smile. “Not a terrible idea at all.”

Felix opens the fridge and gets out two cans and the package of crackers from the counter. “I’ll commiserate. Or at least mutually caffeinate. Although I’m sure I’m gonna regret that later when my body decides falling asleep isn’t on the agenda.”

“What time is it?” Matt asks.

“Almost 10.”

“In the evening?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t have to stay.”

“Nah,” Felix waves it off with a gesture, “It’s cool. I called Donnie, and he’s totally down with it. Really, don’t worry about it. This must suck enough, least I can do is help out a friend in need.”

“Thanks, Felix. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why is it that you’ve got a Daredevil suit hanging there by your door?”

Oh shit. Matt must have just hung it on the hooks in the hallway in his hazy state of mind last night rather than lock it away. Shit.

Felix adds, “Do you know the guy, or something?”

Matt tries to wrack his muddy brain for a halfway plausible story. For a split second, he wonders if it might not just be better to tell the truth, but that thought is quickly discarded. He has no idea if he can trust Felix with a secret so momentous. His defenses are too weak today to be asked a question like this.

He says the first thing that comes to his mind and isn’t completely ridiculous. “New York Comic Con cosplay. A little embarrassing, I know.”

Felix seems to buy it. “Huh, wouldn’t have pegged you for the geeky type, but that’s kinda cool. Do you have the mask, too?”

“Still working on that.”

“You’ll have to show me when it’s done. But now it kinda makes sense, actually. Pretty perfect for a blind guy to cosplay a masked vigilante. You’re onto something there, Murdock.”

That’s all there is on the topic before Matt manages to persuade Felix that he’s going to be fine and to go home to his family. A narrow escape, Matt thinks, and he vows to be more careful in the future. If it had been Karen, she wouldn’t have been duped so easily.

# Day 365

The day that marks the one year anniversary of Foggy’s disappearance is a Tuesday. It’s completely routine and uneventful, and neither Matt nor Karen make much of it. Matt isn’t even sure she remembers, and he doesn’t want to make it into a thing.

One thing he knows is that he doesn’t want the day to be filled with regret and guilt and unpleasant memories, so he lays out his plan to Karen.

“Really?” she asks him when he calls her into his office and explains his intentions.

“Bad idea?”

“No, I think it’s a great idea. You certainly have my blessing.”

He walks over to Felix’ office a few minutes later, rapping on the doorframe. “You have a minute?”

“Sure, for you any time.”

Matt goes in and sits down in one of the chairs. Which is actually nice, sturdy and comfy. They’ve gradually updated their furniture over the last months, now that the practice is making a decent profit.

“So, uhm, I’ve been thinking…” he begins.

“You do a lot of that?” Felix quips, but Matt ignores it.

“You know how Foggy and I were partners? Well, I’m thinking maybe it’s time this office had a proper sign again. One that has two names on it with an ‘and’ sign between them.”

“As in Murdock & Bruhn?”

“Exactly as in Murdock & Bruhn.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Matt confirms. “If you want to, that is. You don’t have to say yes. And we’d have to talk about the details, obviously.”

“My first instinct is to say yes, but I hope you understand that I’ll have to talk to Donnie before making a definite commitment.”

“Oh yes, absolutely. The offer stands.”

When he gets back to his office, he picks up one of the toy dinosaurs in each hand and mutters, “I hope you’re okay with this, buddy.”

And there’s faint Foggy voice in his head that says, “Are you kidding? ’Course I am, you schmuck.”


	2. Thin Air – The Murdock & Bruhn Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Ending No. 1 to “Thin Air”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters/Pairings:** Matt, Karen, Felix B. (OMC)  
>  **Author's Note:** So how would you all feel about an alternate endings special feature? Because when I was writing the story, I was trying to come up with ways of where to leave it, and I realized there were a few possible scenarios. So which one to pick? And then I realized… maybe I don’t have to. I’ll just write them all.  
> The next chapters are all going to be alternate endings that pick up where I left off in the first chapter. Fair warning: You might not like all of them. Please don’t throw inanimate objects, okay? And I’d love to get your feedback on which one you liked most and least. Or tell me if you have a different idea yet, maybe I’ll write and add it.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

# Day 386

Matt and Karen have a bit of a déjà vu when they’re standing in front of their office building, staring at a plaque that has been newly fastened to the wall. It’s silvery and shiny, and the letters are engraved rather than embossed.

“Look at that,” Felix proudly says. “Now it’s official. Murdock & Bruhn is a thing.”

Both Matt and Karen have big smiles plastered on their faces. Matt affirms, “Yes, it is. Time to break out the champagne.”

Karen says, “Well, good thing I’m the one with foresight among the three of us, because… ta-da!”

She reveals the mini bottle of champagne from behind her back and theatrically opens it. Some of the foam wells up and spills down the side of the bottle.

She laughs, “Damn, I’m making a mess already. I’m obviously no expert in handling of expensive alcoholic beverages.”

“Give it here already,” Felix grins at her and takes a sip straight from the bottle. He holds it out to Matt. “To Murdock & Bruhn. Here, your turn, Matt.”

Matt accepts the proffered bottle and also takes a sip. “Murdock & Bruhn.”

Karen is next. “To a great partnership.” She toasts the bottle in the direction of the sign. “Aren’t you supposed to throw it against the wall?”

“Not, that’s for christening ships,” Felix comments.

“Can we please not mention ships when I’m around?” Matt cuts in. “Besides, alcohol in public? Isn’t that illegal?”

“Watch them sue us. We have a spectacular defense attorney.”

# Day 697

“Okay, Murdock, we gotta talk.”

Matt thinks it’s never good when a conversation is opened that way, and it turns out it isn’t.

Felix is sitting across from Matt in one of the armchairs in Matt’s apartment. Matt is still recovering from a busted knee that suffered a particularly vicious blow from a tire iron two nights ago. He’s achy and exposed, and he has a feeling he knows what’s coming.

And, yes, Felix goes full frontal assault. “You know, it’s taken me a long time to actually convince myself this is even possible, but there’s only so much bullshit I can take, and now I just gotta say it.” He pauses. “Daredevil.”

There’s a long silence, and when Matt realizes Felix is waiting for his reaction, he asks, “What about Daredevil?”

“You’re him.”

“Come on, you know that’s ridiculous.”

“But is it? I’m not usually the conspiracy theorist kinda guy, but ever since I saw that suit hanging there by your door, I’ve been thinking. Every now and then, you have these ‘mystery injuries’,” he draws quotation marks in the air, “that come with some threadbare explanation, and, oh, which happen to coincide with some big gang bust or explosion or, I don’t know, other major Daredevil activity. Cause, by the way? No blind person is this clumsy.

“And then I looked at photos of the Man in the Mask, and I looked at your jawline, and then I looked again, and the similarities are just too striking. To the point where they’re not just similarities anymore. Now, this may sound kinda creepy, which it isn’t, but I’ve watched you. You and him, you’re the same person.”

“You followed me?”

“No. Jesus. I mean I watch the way you move around, the way you hold your body. Are you going to deny it? I know you have issues, but please don’t lie to my face.”

Matt doesn’t know how to respond. He presses his lips shut, and Felix takes that as a yes. “Does Karen know?”

“Know what?”

Felix gets up from the chair and starts pacing. “Jesus fucking Christ. You just basically admitted it. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“Okay. Let’s say I was this person you think I am. Do you know what would happen if Daredevil’s identity was revealed? He’d become a target. Everyone he knows would become a target. People get hurt when that happens. Good people.”

“And who says his identity would be revealed?”

“I do. Because one day, there’s going to be a reporter offering a large sum of money, or a criminal mastermind with effective methods of torture, or, I don’t know, just the plain slip of a tongue in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So, theoretically, if you were that person I think you are, how many people do you think know his identity and have kept it a secret all this time?”

Matt shrugs. “How would I know?”

“Guess.”

“I don’t know. Two? Maybe three.”

“And have they come forward? Have they been bribed or tortured or spilled the beans?”

“No,” Matt says, realizing the lines are now getting too blurry.

Felix sits down again on the other armchair that is a little closer to where Matt is sitting. “Well then, put me in line as number four. Cause I think the guy needs a fucking medal for all that he does.”

Matt thinks this is interesting, because Felix has never really made his stance on Daredevil all that clear when the topic came up in the past.

Felix presses on, “Did you know he rescued a little girl from getting dragged away by a pedophile two nights ago? Well, I’m guessing you would, but what you _don’t_ know is that she was my cousin’s daughter. There was a fight, and Daredevil limped away from the scene with the girl to get her to safety. Left leg, she said. Sound familiar?”

Of course it does. He was there. The girl’s whimpers had distracted him, and the creep he was trying to stop was nimble and quick on his feet.

“Seriously,” Felix adds, “I don’t know how you do it, and I’m not sure I _want_ to know, but you have my promise that I will not tell a single soul. Because one day, it could be Seth. And then I’d want you there to save him.”

Is that really enough reason for Matt to trust the guy? He’s barely known him for two years, but Felix has never given him any reason not to. And they’ve come this far, how much of a chance is there really for him to keep denying it?

“Karen doesn’t know,” he finally says.

“But your friend Foggy, he did?”

Matt nods. “Yeah. He found out by accident. Found me half dead, bleeding out. Saved my life that night, probably.”

“Do I want to know who numbers two and three are?”

Matt ignores the question and pleads, “Please don’t tell Karen.”

“Oh, I won’t. This is your thing, and I’m not gonna get involved in any of the drama. You don’t want to tell her, that’s your decision. I’m just glad you told me.”

“Well, it’s not that you gave me much of a choice.”

“You know me. Tenacious is my middle name. And before I forget, my cousin says thank you. Well, not in a ‘deliver the message to your Daredevil friend’ kind of way, but he’s grateful.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you serious? If anything, we should be thanking _you_. You’re a hero in my book.”

Matt indicates his knee. “Yeah, some hero.”

Felix gives him a bit of a grin. “Well, at least there’s a silver lining in all this. You now have someone who can corroborate your BS in front of Karen.”

Matt doesn’t really think it’s something to be joking about. “You know, I’m not hiding it from Karen by choice.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. Of course it’s your choice. But it’s one you have a damn good reason for. And I get it, Matt. I guess what I wanted to say is, you have my support. And I really mean that.”

“Thanks, Felix.”

Felix sighs and leans back. “Yeah. And I mean, wow. If I’d known I’d be partnering with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen…”

“You regret that now? We can—“

“No,” he interjects. “It’s kinda cool. I like it.”

“Are you going to tell Donnie?”

Felix gives him a look. “Why would I be doing that?”

“Marriage? Not keeping secrets from the ones you love?”

“Yeah, look who’s talking. And that’s a no, by the way. Unless I have your blessing.”

Matt briefly clenches his jaw. “See, this is the part where it gets tricky. I wish it wasn’t this complicated.”

Felix lifts his hands. “No, it’s fine. Like I said, I get it. Don’t worry about me and Donnie.”

“So we’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good. And I hope you get some rest. That knee really looks pretty banged up. You see a doc about it?”

“Daredevil and hospitals don’t really get along. But, yeah, I’ve got someone. I just need a few days.”

“Want me to get you anything?”

“No,” he waves the offer off. “I’m okay. That someone? She’s pretty good with getting me what I need.”

Felix gives him a smirk. “Ah, I see what you’re getting at.”

“No, I don’t mean _that_ way.”

“Uh-huh.”

Matt sighs. “You’re terrible. You’re the last thing I need in my life.”

Felix’ smartphone buzzes, and he looks at it. “Okay, duty calls. Call me if you need anything, Matt. We owe you.”

Matt gives him an affirmative nod, and Felix grabs his jacket. “I’ll let myself out. See ya, Murdock.”

Matt lets his body sag against the couch when Felix is gone, wincing at the pain in his knee. He hopes he hasn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Now, with Foggy he knew he would have eternal loyalty—no matter what. Felix was still a bit of a question mark, but if Matt was honest, his instincts told him that it had been the right thing to do.

And yet, guilt keeps nagging at his conscience that he can’t deny. If he could trust a tentative friend, why can he not trust Karen with this? Foggy had been so angry with him that he didn’t tell her. He can still hear Foggy’s voice in his head. “She deserves to know!”

_Yes,_ he thinks, _she does._ After everything, if anyone deserves to know, it’s her. And why the hell is he still resisting? She’s proven more than once that he can trust her, that she can fend for herself.

It’s a split-second decision, but he fumbles for his smartphone and dials her number.

“Karen?”

“Matt. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Look, can you come over? There’s something I wanna tell you.”

He can almost hear her frown at the other end. “Now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“O…kay. Are you really all right?”

He gives her a little chuckle. “Yes, I’m all right. Well, except for that busted knee. It’s just… this is kind of important.”

“All right,” she says. “Give me an hour, okay?”

“Okay. See you then.”

She brings a bag of chips and a six-pack of beer, as if she knew it was going to be a long night. With the sweating bottle in hand, she sits down across from him.

“All right then. What’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

And then he tells her. From the very beginning, not leaving a damn thing out.

And somehow… it’s okay.

Amazingly, unexpectedly, it’s very much okay.


	3. Thin Air – The Waylon Dunn Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Ending No. 2 to “Thin Air”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters/Pairings:** Felix B. (OMC), Leland O.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

# Day 697

He stares at the two portrait photos in his hands—one of the masked vigilante they’ve dubbed Daredevil, and the other of defense attorney Matthew Murdock. It’s taken quite a while, but he finally has his proof, and the man’s reluctant but voluntary confession.

He fishes the smartphone out of his pocket and brings up the contact for the person saved simply under Mr. O. He’s still wearing the suit and tie from his patent attorney day job—a front he’s grown to mildly appreciate. At least this one’s making good money, even though the offices are kind of a letdown. Though the gay sex? He doesn’t think he could ever get used to that.

“Yes?” the voice at the other end greets him.

“I finally have the confirmation you were hoping for,” he says without preamble.

“You’ve uncovered his identity?”

“Yes. Murdock is Daredevil.”

“And you’re sure.”

“Very.”

“Good work, Mr. Dunn. You shall be duly compensated. I trust you will quickly discard of the Felix Bruhn identity.”

“Of course, Mr. Owlsley.”

“Good,” he just says and disconnects the call.

With that, Waylon Dunn, also known as Felix Bruhn to some, lets the phone slip into his pocket and walks away with a sly grin on his face. Another job done, time to move on to the next.


	4. Thin Air – The Juan Fulanito Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Ending No. 3 to “Thin Air”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters/Pairings:** Juan F., a few OCs  
>  **Author’s Note:** Well… I don’t speak Spanish. But Google Translate and LEO Dictionary do, so I hope I didn’t screw up too badly with the Spanish. Lo siento.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

# Day 420

He’s been dubbed Juan Fulanito. A fulanito is what they call a John Doe in Mexico. As to how he got to be one and ended up in this country, he has no bloody clue.

They tell him he’s been in a coma for over a year, and that it’s a milagro—a miracle—that he’s woken up after all this time. They find a nurse who can speak English, who asks him a lot of questions in a strong Spanish accent.

He doesn’t remember a thing. Not his name, not where he’s from or how he got to Mexico. They give him a hand mirror, and the person staring back at him looks completely unfamiliar.

There isn’t much of a police force in rural Mexico, and the American embassy is a long way away. He’s tried to get someone to look into who he might be, but he’s been running into walls.

And today’s he’s being released from the hospital with no clear idea what the rest of his life is going to be like.

Yolanda waits for him in the doorway, patient with his slow movements and shuffling steps. He’s had to relearn how to walk, how to eat, how to speak, how to be a self-sufficient human being again. It’s been a long struggle, but he’s finally strong enough to get out of this sordid place.

Yolanda speaks good English and is eager to have someone she can practice on. She’s managed to convince her family to take Juan in and care for him until he’s strong enough to work and make a living. In Veracruz, family comes first, and Juan is now family.

# Day 697

“Juan!” Yolanda calls him, “I need some help over here.”

“Esperar!” he responds. “Ya voy. I’m coming.”

He helps her load the firewood off the old, rickety pickup truck. Their latest purchase, and he’s damn proud. Soon she’ll have to stop with the heavy lifting, because she’s four months pregnant. She’s only just starting to show.

He pulls her close and kisses her on the head. “You need to stop working so hard, mi amor.”

“And you need to stop being so… so…” She’s looking for the word.

“Awesome?”

“Patronizey.” She pronounces it wrong too, and he laughs.

“Patronizing. And I’m not. I just love you. And our future offspring.”

She playfully pushes him away. “Go be more awesome. I’ll have dinner ready en media hora.”

He smiles to himself, and thinks how lucky he is to have found a life here and a beautiful wife along with it. Sometimes he dreams of an overwhelmingly busy, gray city with sky-high skyscrapers and someone repeating the word ‘foggy’. It doesn’t mean anything to him, even though he does wonder if they’re old memories.

But it doesn’t matter now. He’s Juan, and he’s happy where he is.


	5. Thin Air – The Franklin Nelson Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Ending No. 4 to “Thin Air”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters/Pairings:** Foggy, Matt  
>  **Author’s Note:** I know. Cheesy cop-out. But I couldn’t not write this. I have zero regrets.

# Day 697

It’s taken him almost two years to piece together enough of his memories to find his way back to New York. He has no idea how he ended up in Puerto Rico, or what caused the lingering amnesia that had him groping around so long for an identity.

The city is louder and busier than he remembers, but all the smells and visual cues are familiar. He’s sure of it: This is home.

His plane lands at JFK and he makes his way straight to Hell’s Kitchen. He has trouble finding the place at first, because his memory is still hazy in places, but he’s walked up and down the same block twice. In the end it’s the humongous billboard mounted high on the wall that sparks the final reassurance.

He hopes it’s not too late, hopes that Matt still lives here. Two years is a long time if your best friend vanishes from your life. Quite possibly without a trace, although that’s just a guess on Foggy’s part. But there’s something inside of him that hopes this can be a happy reunion, not a disaster of accusations and blame and mountains of guilt too high to conquer.

The staircase has a familiar feel to it, and the door to apartment 6A even more so with its white, almost dirty gray top and turquoise below. His heart skips a beat when he lifts his fist up to knock.

This is a defining moment, and he’s suddenly scared shitless.

He hesitates, lets his hand sink down. Then lifts it again.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “Come on, Nelson, you can do this,” he finally tells himself and raps on the wood.

Four times.

In that pattern they used to have in law school that he actually _does_ remember without too much trouble. Memory is a fickle thing.

He can hear faint noises inside, steps coming closer. Then they stop. Is this Matt? Is he listening to his heartbeat right now? Can he tell?

“Matt?” Foggy adds for good measure.

The door swings open abruptly. And there he is, Matt Murdock, looking exactly like Foggy remembers him, except his eyes are wide and there’s an expression of shock and disbelief and utter discomposure on his face.

Matt stumbles backwards, the corridor wall behind him stopping him in mid-motion.

“Foggy?” he lets out, and it almost sounds like a whimper.

Foggy lifts his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Yeah. It’s me, buddy. I’m glad you remember my ugly mug.”

He steps closer, ready to draw his friend into a hug, but Matt shies away like a scared animal. It stops Foggy cold.

Matt’s voice is a stone-cold whisper. “You’re not real. You can’t be real. I looked all over for you. It’s been two years.”

“Yes, it has. And there’s a story to go with it, if you’ll let me tell it. Or at least as much as I know of it. But I can assure you, I’m real. Very, _very_ real. Like, warm-blooded, amnesia-addled homo sapiens real. Pinch me if you don’t believe it.”

Matt takes a tentative step in Foggy’s direction, holding out a hand in front of him.

“Will you at least let me come in?” Foggy asks, all playfulness now gone from his voice.

It is then that Matt closes the distance between them and pulls him close, wrapping his arms around him like he will never want to let go.

“Oi,” Foggy manages to mutter into Matt’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t move for a long time, because Matt’s crying into his shirt, and clings on for dear life.

When Matt’s grip lessens, Foggy says, “Okay, this is more like the welcome I’d expected. But can we please go inside? I’m here to stay. I promise.”

Matt sniffles, lets go, wipes his nose with his sleeve. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Foggy gives him a little laugh. “It’s okay. I expected nothing less.”

“I just… I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, neither can I. It’s been the weirdest two years, I’m telling ya.”

It takes all night for Foggy and Matt to recount their last 700 days—give or take. Neither of them gets any sleep, but there’s nothing in the world that could matter less than sleep at a time like this.

There’s a happy glow surrounding both of them by the time Matt gets out his phone and calls Karen.

Perhaps miracles do happen, and all too often when you least expect them.

**Author's Note:**

> When this prompt was posted in the kinkmeme, there was one comment that I think summarizes my whole experience of writing this. See below.  
> 
> 
> It pains me just a little to see Matt so confused and guilty and in pain, but I also realized that the Matt I was writing wasn’t as weak as I thought he would be. He’s been through childhood trauma and came out the other end. Who says he can’t move on with his life this time either? Because I just can’t picture him becoming suicidal over losing Foggy, no matter how hard it must be. I hope you’re all cool with that, because I realized I quite like this version of Matt.


End file.
